


We’re Not Who We Used to Be

by pictureperfectwatermelon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Platonic Relationships, Post-One Direction, Reflection, Reminiscing, Self-Reflection, also dedicated to those very people., inspired by anyone calling their ex during self quarantine., the first 3 characters are most prominent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:03:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23712679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pictureperfectwatermelon/pseuds/pictureperfectwatermelon
Summary: Being stuck inside with nothing else to do is the perfect incentive to make some bad calls.(A bittersweet reflection on the past decade, shared between Harry and Louis. Title unapologetically ripped off from Two Ghosts*.)
Relationships: Eleanor Calder/Louis Tomlinson, Implied Harry Styles/Taylor Swift, Implied Harry Styles/Xander Ritz, Platonic Louis Tomlinson/Zayn Malik, platonic Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	We’re Not Who We Used to Be

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I’ve written, but it’s 12,000+ words of One Direction RPF, and it’d be a shame if it didn’t get published somewhere. (You can tell how my quarantine is going.) I want to preface this by saying, this is 100% speculation. Well, not 100%, but you get what I mean. I took a lot of snippets from interviews and interpreted them from the respective characters’ point of views. (Important to note I wrote “characters” rather than people. I wouldn’t describe the people I’ve written as caricatures, but they’re certainly not accurate representations.) 
> 
> If any one point of view seems really biased, good, it should be. If narratives don’t add up here or there, I’m sorry. This all rushed out of me in a blur, as most hyperfixation inspired things do. I did read over it, but I don’t have the best short term memory... 
> 
> *seriously, listen to Two Ghosts while reading this. It’s the perfect backtrack. Also, stream Fine Line.

_Los Angeles, California, 12:05 PM_

His phone rings, knocking him right out of focus. He jumps, causing the pen in his hand to skid across the page and the poor dog in his lap, Myles, to fall off onto the couch on his back. He reaches to look for pockets before realizing his sweatpants _have_ no pockets, then with an irritated huff, splays his hands out on the couch looking for where he discarded it. He finds it vibrating Underneath one of the gigantic pillows, and once he lifts the screen to his face, it lights up with caller ID. A call through _WhatsApp_ , interestingly enough. There’s no name, just a number, but it’s a number Harry recognizes well enough.

He notices, from the couch across from him, Jeff looking up with an imploring tilt of his head. He must’ve noticed the shock on his face or the hesitation in picking up the call. Myles has already switched alliances, making himself comfortable in his owner’s lap. Jeff doesn’t say anything, but Harry knows his interest comes from a place of genuine concern. He’s switched his phone number quite a few times to keep people he wants in his contacts, and the others, out. Many people “have Harry Style’s phone number”, but only the important people _have_ his phone number. It’s not a painstaking process, as his manager, it’s sort of his job and it was his suggestion in the first place, after Harry confessed he wished he had more privacy, just didn’t have the heart to tell most people, _Hey, stop calling, thanks!_ Jeff has a lot less qualms against being _strict_ to people who harass his client. 

“Louis!” He responds to the unasked question, not exactly overjoyed, simply imitating enthusiasm so Jeff doesn’t get all protective. 

“ _What_?” He asked, confounded. Harry just shrugs, but Jeff continues, “How the fuck did he get your number? What the hell, H,” but Harry is already standing and walking to a different room. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” He chirps, but when he leaves Jeff in the other room, he catches a glimpse of him anxiously running his hands through his hair. 

He picks up the call right at the last moment, a million thoughts rushing through his head the millisecond before. It’s just a call, psyching himself up over nothing is pointless. There’s no occasion either, not that he’s aware of, so it should be fine. There’s no need to _worry_ , whatever happens he can handle, he’s got his manager in the other room after all. 

He calms himself quite well, and after several seconds of silence is the first to say, “Hello!” 

  
_England, 8:05 PM_

It’s probably a bad idea to do so, but he’s left with a fridge stocked with booze, a nice WiFi connection, and to his own devices. He doesn’t like second guessing himself, makes him feel fucking stupid, or _weak_ , which is really just as bad, which means sometimes he gets himself in messes that he could have easily avoided had he just swallowed his pride, or used his head a little better. Thing is, he’s not exactly able to just _disconnect_ from his emotions like that. He feels them just beneath his skin, an itch he can’t scratch, and it grows to be too much of a nuisance to ignore, because he’s never trained himself to not immediately follow his instincts. So by the time he’s calling, it’s like, _What the hell_ , and if it all goes wrong he’s got enough to drown himself in for the night.

Eleanor is somewhere downstairs, or in another one of the several giant rooms in their estate. He doesn’t know what she’s doing currently, not a weird occurrence in their relationship. They’re both quiet about their needs, Louis more so than she is, but she’s begun to reach his levels over the years. They’ve both grown more cynical over the years. Her, from relentless online hatred, him, from just literally _everything_. There is love between them, that is undeniable, because there’s no other reason she’d stick with him through everything. She’s grown quite anxious to go out in public settings _without_ someone by her side, due to the fear of being recognized and given the _wrong_ kind of attention. She’s always been sort of shy to begin with, a sweet, soft spoken little thing, with big doe eyes and a quiet but warm presence. It’s what drew him to her in the first place, and he feels bad sometimes, for what his own fame has done to her.

For whatever reason, he doesn’t want her overhearing this conversation. This weird, unnecessary defensive feeling he gets, like he has to watch every move, lest it be misinterpreted against his favor. For Christ sake, there’s no one else _around_ , and Eleanor couldn’t care less that he’s calling Harry. The two of them didn’t even talk much during the time the band was together, and on the few occasions they did, Harry was _extremely_ polite. Polite to a point of it being _impersonal_. why, Louis doesn’t know, but they don’t know enough about each other to even _have_ negative feelings towards the other. She would probably find it cute, in the same nostalgic way his family members love rewatching old One Direction videos.

The rift that grew between them was one very personal, and one he felt a bit _petty_ explaining out loud, so he didn’t really get into the deep details of it with anyone. It’s just, for the first couple of years, they were _close_ —and that’s _under_ selling it, honestly—and then, things started changing. They started changing, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Harry was _16_ when they met, he had a long way to grow, physically, growing taller, and mentally, growing more curious. That’s how he tried to explain it to disappointed family members, who found themselves missing Harry spontaneously coming over during holidays or breaks. That’s how he tried to explain it to his mum, who just didn’t buy it, fixing him with a tight frown and piercing eyes.

They talk infrequently, and when they do, they exchange a couple words, usually compliments or congratulations, and then go long stretches before doing it again. It’s really _pathetic_ , because so much of the conversation is spent doing a bit of acting. Louis uses way more explanation points than necessary, Harry makes way too _much_ sense and makes way _less_ jokes. Sometimes he’ll even reach out, and will get a response from an automated robot informing him _This number is no longer in use._ They’re different, in that sense. Louis likes to keep tabs on his “people”, Harry...

He just erases his mind of any doubts or any _intelligent_ thoughts, and shakily presses down on the “call” button, feeling cold shocks run down his arm when his phone begins ringing. No going back now.

....

....

....

_Click._

....

....

“Hello!”

_Los Angeles, California, 12:10 PM_

“Hey mate, hey,” Comes a light voice from the other end. Harry brings his thumb to his mouth, nibbling on it out of habit.

“Hi—“

“You—“ They both start. There is an awkward pause, where both are silently prompting the other to speak first, before Harry apologizes.

“It’s fine, what were you going to say?”

“No, no you first.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, yes, I insist.” Argghhhh....

“Right... I was just saying, you’re a hard fella to get in contact with.”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, that I am,” He says with a slightly forced chuckle. “I uh, I change my number quite often, yeah..”

“Must be hard for your family to keep track, eh? Poor Anne,” It’s weird hearing his mother’s first name come out of Louis’ mouth—mostly because it’s been ages since either of them have interacted with their respective families. Harry hasn’t seen any of the Tomlinsons in a hot minute, and vice versa. It brings him back to a time where that was the norm, Louis popping in during the holidays to eat at their house, Anne even accommodating by buying a mini cake to celebrate his belated birthday. Anne entrusting Louis to be Harry’s unofficial guardian while on the road, even letting Louis take him along on a skiing trip.

Thing is, it’s not hard for Anne to keep track, because anytime his number changes, Jeff is ever vigilant, and has already messaged his closest family members the new number. They know the moment Jeff makes the decision, so they’re expecting it, too. The only people left in the dust are the people he doesn’t want having his number, or the people he doesn’t specifically request to keep. Sometimes, they’re all fine and good people. He just doesn’t consider them close enough to warrant them having his personal number. It happens to a couple of Gemma’s friends, girls he never talks to who get his number through Gemma for whatever reason, save it, then text him. Jeff tells him to ghost them, but he can’t bring himself to be rude to his sister’s friends.

Instead of giving the honest answer, for obvious reasons, he goes along with it and jokes, “Yeah, yeah. I am the main cause for... _90%_ of her grey hairs. Uh, not that she has any...” Which gets a genuine chuckle out of Louis, slightly easing the tension.

“So, to what do I owe the occasion?” He asks pleasantly.

“Well, I thought I’d just check in to see how you’re doing.” Louis answers, his tone taking a much more solemn dive. “Just, with everything happening, I just wanted to make sure uh, everyone is accounted for. I suppose.”

_England, 8:27 PM_

He mentally face palms. _Make sure everyone is accounted for?_ That’s one way to put it. Not like people are out there dying from this wretched virus. Accounted for, not the most appropriate way to put it.

It’s a half-truth. There isn’t a solid reason why he called. The virus isn’t the reason why at all, actually, so maybe it’s acomplete lie. But it’s not like he isn’t concerned with Harry’s well-being. The guy likes getting out, going on little joy rides in his Range Rover, or whatever vintage car he’s gotten his hands on. He’s pretty active too, _by choice_ , going to cycling classes or runs or hikes. His need to be doing something can sometimes border on restless. It wasn’t just going out to clubs, or shopping, it was just spending hours _outside_ for no reason at all. Spending hours hopping around from one friend’s house to the next. No plans, almost like bar hopping, except substitute bars with something hipster like brunch, or cycling class, or long drives on the coast.

He’s hard to keep tabs on.

“Ah,” Harry responds in understanding, “Of course. Yeah, well, I’m good.”

“Good, good—that’s... that’s good to hear...” _Stupid_.

“Yeah. How’s the family? How’s everything?” By everything, he knows he means England.

“Better than before. I mean, you have your occasional idiot thinking he’s invincible, ignoring the uh, social distancing rules, but other wise, not so bad. I mean, in comparison to... well, other places.” He hears Harry hum lowly in sympathy and agreement. “The family is good. Everyone’s in the house, girls are bored out of their bloody minds but, it’s a matter of public safety. And their safety.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. Yeah, and we’re all good over here.” We’re doesn’t go unnoticed. Louis is not surprised he’s quarantined with someone else. Harry’s hot and cold, but he prefers to spend his time with others, extroverted to an exhausting point. Louis could be described as a social butterfly but, at the end of the day he likes to spend his time with the same couple of trusted friends and family. He couldn’t imagine Harry would survive if he didn’t have someone to shelter in with, he might actually _wilt_. The thought is actually amusing, but Louis would never understand it—he’s unsure if Harry’s simply unable to deal with _himself_ , or if his attention span is just laughably short.

He doesn’t ask who, he doesn’t care. It could be whoever he’s obsessed with this time around, or one of his vegan rich kid LA friends. Whoever it is, it’s definitely someone he doesn’t know or he’s barely acquainted with. He’s got more pressing matters at the forefront of his mind, one of which is remedying this awkward silence that’s washed over their call. If he was only there to check in on things, the next course of action would be to bid him a good day, and hang up. Except, he wasn’t _just_ calling to check in on things. There was so much more he had to say but for the life of him, he couldn’t conjure the thoughts or lasso them into a sentence that made sense, or didn’t sound pathetic and unfairly accusatory. He’s scared the unresolved conflict between them will spill over, after literally years of working hard to conceal it. To hide it from their family, then for the fans. After Zayn left, it was vital in holding together whatever was left of the band’s dignity, and hope. Fat load of _shite_ that did—they’ve been on _hiatus_ for five years now. Five years and counting.

“Cool, cool.” He stalls, and Harry follows suit, “Yup!” It irritates him how little he’s holding up his side of the conversation. If Harry is known for anything, it’s his charm, the effortless way he holds pointless small talk. Almost like he’s actually _enjoying_ talking about something he read in the papers the other day, or he _cares_ about the restaurant so-and-so went to the other day that _just had the best tacos._ Never grew short of temper, didn’t pull out his phone, didn’t just—well, walk away. Just sat there, head tilted and leaned in ever-so-slightly.

_He doesn’t want to talk to you._

“So, anything else I can—“

“I just got to thinking...”

_Los Angeles, California, 12:32 PM_

Another pause where Harry can hear Louis thinking. He’s still standing in the middle of the room he popped into. Checking out the windows to the expansive backyard. There was no one back there, as Glenne was upstairs on the phone with her parents. There was just this compulsion to do something, because he was growing anxious awaiting what Louis might say next. He has a general _idea_ of what the next topic could be, but he’s not sure what angle Louis is working. That’s not to say he doesn’t know Louis anymore.

The last time they spoke willingly, not in front of cameras or with the boys, was five years ago. Right as everything was coming to an end. They were both just sitting, in the aftermath of the millions of albums sold, the thousands of live concerts, the four world tours. They weren’t the same people they were in 2011, there was no going back to that even if they wanted to. So it wasn’t like they were back at the beginning again but, it was definitely more stripped down. Just Harry and Louis, except, they weren’t HarryandLouis anymore. Harry saw a path laid out in front of him, one of his own, and wherever it went, he knew it would never wind up bringing him back _here_. And he knew it would no longer intersect with not just Louis’, but the rest of the boys. Their marketing team did a _fantastic_ job of wielding a heartwarming tale of strangers turned brothers for life, but as a general rule, relationships are much more complicated than that.

Louis is passive-aggressive, emphasis on the _aggressive_ , until he’s all up in your face. He’s bark _and_ bite, and he’s not afraid to bite the people around him, or most vital to him. At first, it was boyishly rebellious, but as he grew older, it twisted into something that could easily be interpreted as immature and upfront disrespectful. It wasn’t like he was incapable of being reasonable while still speaking his truth, it was just he often didn’t take the reasonable route. So when they were sat together in the aftermath, he sort of expected a fight.

The first time he suggested taking a break, all the boys stared at him like he’d grown another head. _A break? Wait, you’re serious?_ He felt so _small_ sitting at the conference table, surrounded by four boys and an intimidating amount of managers and execs. But the words left his mouth and there was no taking it back, and there was no taking back the implications. All the execs knew that by _break_ , Harry really meant end, even if at the time, he really sincerely thought they just needed a break, however long that might be. Boy bands don’t take _breaks_ , because they’re a well-oiled money making machine. Boy bands get week long holidays, and hey, they even get weekends!—but they don’t get _breaks_ , because a break means five of the companies greatest assets are out there somewhere, with far too much freedom, to do something like, say, release a _solo album_.

Apparently, there was _no logical reason to take a break_. They were trying to ride the high of 2013, probably the height of their career, and introduce a new sound to the band. They pitched it like they were actually willing to ditch the fool proof money-making blueprint and let them turn One Direction into some passion project. Harry (and the rest of the boys) already heard the pitch— _Four_ was going to be more mature. Didn’t they say that every press tour? This album is more _mature_ , it’s more honest, because they wrote the songs. Did we mention it was more mature? It’s so much more mature than the last album, which was also mature, but not as mature as this album. There was no new image either. As much as they pushed the narrative that they could look how they pleased, there was still a basic uniform they had to follow.

But it wasn’t just about the banality of their music, it was about the health of the band. When Harry looked around the room, he didn’t see healthy, well-rested, _stable_ individuals. When he looked around the room, he saw jaded young adults, patching the hole created by monotony with substances, with damaging diet restrictions, and an unhealthy amount of compartmentalizing. It was only so long until the cracks started to show, and once the public got a good look of what had become of the positive, teeny-bopper role models, what would they make of it?

Louis though, he didn’t see the problem. When he looked around the room, he just saw a couple of tired guys whose well deserved rest was disrupted by this very unnecessary meeting. Said he didn’t appreciate Harry putting words in his mouth, _I mean, who are you to decide whether I’m stable or not?_ Said he talked a lot of shit, but this was probably the most absurd. Asked for him to back up his claims, then made a big show of “apologizing” for the leaked video of him and Zayn getting high.

Harry just sat there and took it. If they didn’t want to see it, they didn’t have to.

“...about the band and stuff.”

Harry doesn’t reply and the silence urges Louis to continue.

“I mean, it’s nearly our 10th anniversary, did’ya know that?” .... “Believe it or not, it’s been five years since we officially split, and.. well.” _Six since it all started falling apart._

“I know,” He said with a theatrical amount of awe in his voice.

“Nah, I’m serious Haz.” _Haz_ , it’s weird to hear that nickname from Louis. “It’s been five years,”

“I know! I can’t believe it.” He insists.

“And look at us now.” Louis bulldozes his attempts to steer the conversation _away_ from a metaphorical iceberg. “We’ve all got our own albums out now. I never foresaw us... here. I never saw this happening, or coming,”

“ _Well_ ,” Harry accidentally lets slip.

“‘Well’? ‘Well’ what?”

“Nothing.”

“Nah, I know what you meant. I know what you meant.” Louis let’s out of deprecating chuckle, “You’ve always seen this coming. I mean, this is always what you wanted.”

_England, 8:50 PM_

Harry sighs from the other end of the receiver. Louis _knew_ Harry would react that way, despite the fact that he was telling the truth. Harry always wanted the band to breakup, even if it meant taking away the one thing he felt most confident in. Even if it meant disbanding something that was successful, and made millions of people around the globe happy. Millions of their _fans_. See, this was the difference between Louis and Harry.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t try and deny it.” His tone knowing.

“Louis, let’s not go there. It’s.. you know it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t deliberately—“

“But it was like that! It was, I don’t know _why_ you’re acting like—“

“And it’s in the past and completely childish to pick a fight—“

“I’m not picking a fight! I’m not picking a fight,” He defended with incredulity. “It’s just the truth. I’m just stating the facts, mate.”

In his mind, Harry wanted the band dissolved. He’d wanted it ever since 2014. He’s always acting like it couldn’t be helped, like he was just bringing the inevitable to light. But that wasn’t necessarily true, not in 2014. There was no logical reason to quit in 2014, or take a break, whatever euphemism he was using to hide it. They still functioned on stage as one unit, meaning they sold out tours easily. Sales were still up, it wasn’t like they’d plunged dramatically. Public interest was still there. Their songs played on radios over and over again, no matter their position on the charts. They were a standard, household name, and it could’ve stayed that way for several more years. Hell, it could’ve stayed that way until they all made the unanimous decision to retire, maybe sometime when they were all in their mid-30’s.

Even with all of that guaranteed, Harry thought it was best if the band took a little _break_. He always had that air about him, like he knew better, or he was better, or healthier, or smarter, or more intelligent. _News flash_ , none of them pursued a higher education. Not one that mattered, at least. Harry dropped out of school at _16_. So what gave him the right to act high and mighty? That condescending attitude was always well-hidden behind misty, sparkling green eyes, a crease nestled between his eyebrows and that slow, _syrupy_ slow tone of voice. He played the act of concerned band mate _really_ well, anyone else would believe it, _hell_ , Zane Lowe believed it. But Louis has known, since 2013 even, that thoughts of going solo have swirled around in that head of his. He kept that Azoff around for a _reason_.

“It wasn’t because I wanted to sabotage anything or... whatever you’re thinking,”

“Oh, I’m not thinking anything, I’m just stating the facts. Like I said.”

He sounds exasperated when he breathes out, “Louis...” Louis just hums in response. “Stop this. You know why I wanted a break and, honestly, I’m not talking about this anymore, I explained myself thoroughly. I mean, _I_ wasn’t okay either. I wasn’t okay. And Louis, Zayn was... he wasn’t either.”

“...”

“So if you’re call is about _that_ , then.. I don’t really want to discuss it. Or hear it. And I will bid you good bye, and a pleasant evening.”

He should’ve never called. He knew it would spiral into this. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he let his temper get ahold of him anyway, his pettiness, his grudges, always rushing in before he could think. It was a knee-jerk reaction at this point, something of a _mechanism_ , if you will, that’s built up over the years from when he was quite young. A really nasty way to test people—his loved ones, his friends. It’s not a post-band development either.

Now he was just driving Harry away, which he couldn’t let happen. As strong and unaffected he liked to come off, he was still a bit prone to the sentimental, to nostalgia. There was nothing _keeping_ Harry in Louis’ orbit, but they had so much history, there was no denying the important role either of them played in each other’s lives. Embarrassingly enough, Harry is probably used to this push and pull. He knows he’s subjected him to it the most out of all the band mates. Liam with his self-appointed leadership annoyed him right up until the end, Niall remained relatively unproblematic, due to the fact he never involved himself in any of the personal drama. Louis and Zayn had a complex friendship in the sense that their temperaments were too similar—but they were both emotional loose canons. When he left the band, he couldn’t bring himself to attack Zayn, instead setting his sights on that gaudy producer. It hurt when he didn’t turn up to his X-Factor performance, but he knew better than to send an angry text, or voicemail. Whatever he spat out in vitriol at Zayn would only be returned full force.

“That’s not what I came to call about.” He says.

“Okay.”

“Yeah, I was just.. reminiscing, and all that. 10 years, fuckin’ hell. 10 _bloody_ years, well, we’re good as old men now, eh?” Harry chuckles a bit and softly rebukes, “Not _that_ old, come on Louis.”

“But yeah, 10 years is a pretty big milestone.”

_Los Angeles, California, 1:00PM_

This conversation is one long, unpredictable rollercoaster. Every time he thinks he’s avoided a land mine topic, Louis somehow manages to swerve them right back on course for another.

This one might turn really impersonal really fast. He doesn’t want it to, despite how belly-up this entire phone call has been already, but bringing up anything about managers might crash this ride all together. Harry doesn’t want to end anything on bad terms. _Okay_ terms, sure, but bad is to be avoided.

“It is,” He says on a shaky exhale, “it is.”

“And I was looking on Twitter the other day,” _Fuck_ , “It seems the fans are a bit antsy for something to happen. Liam and his big mouth, ya know?”

“Aha, yeah, Liam is...” Someone he actively avoids talking to. He asked for space, changed his number, and even outright _ignores_ his calls. He and Liam get along as well as he and Niall do, it’s just that Niall is good at keeping his opinions to himself.

“He’s always... saying stuff and making these _promises_ , you know, stringing them along, I feel quite bad for ‘em. I almost want to stop calling, ‘cause every time I do, it’ll be in the papers. Y’know, that we’ve spoken. Then he’ll twist it into this _reunion_ thing and...”

The topic of a reunion is one he’s always having to dodge. For whatever reason, everyone wants to know when there’s going to be a reunion. Even when he’s in the middle of promo for his sophomore album, he’s being asked, _So when is One Direction getting back together?_ He expected it when he first went solo, was a bit disappointed when it popped up during Dunkirk promo, but it does not seem to die. The band has been on break for five years now. He wishes the public would have a bit more respect for them, they’ve all released their own albums, why not give them a listen? Louis just released his, what’s all this rush for a reunion? It’s confusing, because the numbers (not that he cares so much for them) seem to imply people are loving his solo stuff, but every question out of some interviewers mouth seems to be about the _reunion_. When’s _the reunion_ going to happen?

He tries to be nice when it comes up. He always gives the exact same answer, so he wishes they’d get the idea and shut up about it, but they never do. _When the time is right, when the time is right_. That will continue to be his answer until their Greatest Hits album is released. Will probably be his answer after he retires. He’s not ruling out a reunion, it’s just not his priority. He’s not actively thinking into a future where One Direction eventually gets back together again. He’s not planning out his every move for that eventuality, in fact, he’s steering himself away from that direction entirely. Industry people get that, Jeff _encourages_ that. It’s not to say he didn’t love being in the band, that he hated it or anything, not at all, he just wants to move on from it. Do what he’s doing now, _focus_ on what he’s doing now, because if he’s being honest he _prefers_ it. Love isn’t enough to describe how he feels, it definitely far surpasses that. It’s a spiritual fulfillment that he wouldn’t have ever gained by being in the band.

“But I mean, 10 years, sheesh. Maybe. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it.” _Argh, nooo...._

“A reunion?”

“I mean, something of the sorts. Like, whatever the government permits. I don’t think a concert would be in the question, not with how large the demand would be, but...” The mention of a concert causes his heart to sink, in remembrance of the death of Love on Tour. He didn’t want to have a One Direction concert when he couldn’t even have his own. Of course the safety of the general public over a concert, which could be rescheduled and was rescheduled, but he could still mourn the loss in his own head.

“Oh... yeah, a concert, I don’t know about that.”

“Yeah, but something might be nice you know, to show our gratitude. Every year we just sort of tweet about it, but this feels like it deserves something special.”

“Uhhh.. y-yeah. Yeah.” He doesn’t tweet about it.

“Haha, you don’t seem all that psyched.”

“ _Well_ ,”

“Right, right. You don’t need to explain it, I already know. I get it, with me own album out now it can get a bit irritating when I’m asked about _One Direction_ or whatever else...”

Relief washes through him. “Yeah.”

“I mean that’s a given, taking into consideration the music you’re creating now.”

_England, 9:15 PM_

Entirely different from the stuff they were producing during their time in a band. They got a taste of that in their last album. The sound of _Olivia_ and _If I Could Fly_ were both distinctively Harry. Louis always liked indie bands too, grew up listening to them and sort of idolizing the grunge, “could careless” attitude the stars gave off. But Harry didn’t just like contemporary indie bands, he liked _old_ —and he means _ancient_ —indie bands. Things he’s not even sure his own parents would have known. Things he knows Anne or Robin didn’t introduce him to. He’s not even sure how he found half the obscure 70’s bands he listens to, a couple from recommendation from friends in the industry, a couple by just sitting by a laptop and letting the music shuffle from familiar bands into _similar artists_. Not to say didn’t listen to top hits from time to time, there was a period in his life where he obsessively listened to 1989 (but that was probably for a different reason)... but he really, genuinely, _loved_ rock and folk music from the 60-90’s. Like, hippie stuff too.

Some of his new songs are radio friendly, which could be intentional, but he knows Harry doesn’t care about what other people _like_. Not in a selfish way, and it’s not something he _actively_ does. He doesn’t _actively_ defy expectations or mainstream, that’s just who he is. Louis can’t say he didn’t try to be radio friendly, he’s business minded, plus, his forte has always been lyrics, not necessarily instrumentals. But when _Harry Styles_ debuted, he didn’t expect him to go for something so _him_ and so anti-radio. Not to say it was a bad album, it was good, it was fucking astounding and reviews agree, it was just the very action of submitting that 6-minute song as a single was ballsy. His team had to know it wasn’t going to be a “hit”, they were purely riding the mystique and hype of _Harry Styles’ first solo album_. And fucking hell, it _worked_. The song did unexpectedly well, and it nestled comfortable within the charts, the black sheep amongst other top hits.

A concert would be funny as all hell though. Dressed and behaving the way they do now on stage would be like dancing with two left feet. He’s not sure they fit together anymore. Liam’s aesthetics are always changing, and have a tendency to fall on the cringy and sometimes even offensive side. Louis and Niall are probably the closest to how it used to be. Down to Earth, relatable images, with Niall leaning into that folk, countryside look. Louis admits he’s more _lad_ like, what with his tracksuits and dressed up athletic wear. He grown a bit more crass as well, but it’s not a huge evolution. Then, there’s Harry, on the opposite spectrum. He still remembers the black and white suit he wore to their AMAs, taking one look at it when they stepped onto the red carpet, and wishing he’d go back to the dressing room and pick something less garish. He’s seen the photos, Louis, Liam and Niall dressed sharply, in coordinating suits, and Harry, standing a noticeable distance away from them, in a pattern that could only be found on your nan’s couch. That wasn’t the end of his fashion evolution, though. It started off as pastel suits, a unique taste on a classic, then Louis _blinked_ , and suddenly he’s wearing a red and black diamond print suit like he’s the King of Hearts. Or Queen—Louis is just not entirely sure what he’s become, as a _person_. He steers clear of openly making assumptions though, just sticks to what he knows.

“I’m sure they have something to give the fans though. Even if it’s not a concert, obviously. Something we filmed and stashed away that could come in handy about now.” Harry just hums. A silence washes over the call again, but it’s mutual.

“Five years ago, I thought I had everything in control. Under control. Even with the baby... I was sure about everything. For those first few years after the split, I was stubborn, but mostly, lost. I was really lost. I didn’t know... where to go, or what to do, I mean, I knew who I was but... n-not.. not who I was in the public eye. Apart from the band, that is. In the band I knew “who I was”, but as a solo act, I wasn’t as confident. That was why I never committed to releasing any music. A couple songs here or there, just to... keep up appearances, I guess. To meet everyone’s expectations. But really I was too...” _Scared_ , “Nervous to release an album because I wanted the band to get back together. So things would be easy again. Or make sense again.”

The moment it all spills out of his mouth he accepts the massive hangover he’s going to have in the morning. He’s not surprised at coming clean though. This has been building up for a long time, he just never told the honest truth to anyone. He delved into it a bit in exclusives, but he couldn’t reveal the full scope of everything, because he didn’t want to appear too vulnerable. He was aware of how it made him seem. The only person he could admit this to would be someone who knew where he was coming from. Niall never liked to talk about anything deep, either didn’t have the patience or didn’t relate very easily. Liam was _Liam_. He definitely cares, he’s just... not the most complex guy, if he’s being honest. Also not the most perceptive. Zayn is out of the question. Even when they were close, Louis detected what he _used_ to identify as _weakness_ , which he now knows was just emotional instability because of anxiety problems. The moment he sensed it, he let himself assume a more brotherly, familial role, instinctually, and treated him like he treated his sisters. Which meant he refused to seem vulnerable in front of him, if he could avoid it. 

That left Harry.

“Right, _sorry_ ,” He apologizes, genuinely, feeling guilty for unloading all of that onto him. What’s he to make of it? There’s nothing to say in response to that. “I’m sure you, you’re doing well though. I mean, you did well, and you are currently... _just_ , you made the transition smoothly. Is what I’m trying to say.”

There’s a pause from the other end. Harry’s been silent for so long, Louis wonders if he’s just put the phone on mute and answers when he thinks he’s being prompted. He wouldn’t blame him, _fuck_ , it’s probably afternoon in LA. Even in self-quarantine, he’d probably rather do _nothing_ than listen to Louis whine.

“...mmm.. it wasn’t easy, Louis.” He chides.

“It’s always been easy for you.”

_Los Angeles, California, 1:30 PM_

“It _hasn’t_. It wasn’t easy. You think I pulled that album out of my ass?” He jokes, trying to keep his irritation under the surface.

“Come down. You’re the perfect pop star. I mean really, you _bask_ in the attention.”

“What the hell does that mean.” Because when The Rolling Stones says that, it’s a compliment. But a good 40% of Louis and Harry’s conversation following their fall out was a battle of wits. Who could make the most underhanded comment. Who could act the most unbothered by the other’s existence. So he can’t really be sure when he’s taking a compliment, or falling into a trap.

“It means what it’s always meant! I mean, everyone loves you. They’ve always loved you. And if they don’t love you, it’s because they don’t _know_ you. Like, they _really_ don’t know you. You like performing, you like everything that comes with being in the spotlight.”

“Th...thank you..?”

“What?” Louis guffaws, “You can take the compliment, mate!”

“Sorry. Sorry..”

“Don’t apologize! Don’t act so humble.”

“But—I... sorry. I mean, thanks. Ugh..” He doesn’t really know how to act when people compliment him. He understands things that are constructive, like, _that was better. That was a smart decision. That makes sense._ But he’ll never behave properly when he’s just being showered in general praise. _You’re amazing. You’re extremely talented. This is phenomenal._ He doesn’t disagree, he knows when he’s done a good job, he just never expects such brazen praise, which means he never has a perfect response planned ahead.

“I’m serious, I’m not taking the piss out of ya.”

“For a second there, I thought you were, haha.”

“Nah, that would come off quite jealous and catty of me. I’m serious, you’re good at this. That’s not a bad thing.”

“Well, I mean, I’m _flattered_ , but it wasn’t easy. After going solo, I mean. Because. Well. I mean..”

“It’s just me, Harold. Why’ve you got your tongue in a twist?”

“ _Sorry_ ,”

“No need to be so nervous, mate. Come on, let’s hear it. It’d make me feel better to be honest, after all that shit I dumped on you. So I’d like to hear it, any really embarrassing, personal things you feel like over sharing.”

Harry chuckles. “Just that it wasn’t easy. I didn’t immediately figure out who I wanted to be and stuff.” It might’ve looked that way, but he it wasn’t like he became an entirely new person the moment he signed that contract with Jeff. He would describe the process as more of a metamorphosis. He knew who he wanted to be, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to introduce himself that way right off the bat, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to share that side of him with the public. The developmental stages were fragile, and he didn’t want anyone else’s opinion on who he should be, not after spending so many years mislabeled by people who stalked him yet knew _nothing_ about him. It wasn’t just about the clothes, even though he really loves that part of it. The clothes tie into a facet of his identity. A really important, personal facet of his identity, that he hasn’t entirely figured out, even now.

“The suits though... and the varnish—er, the nail polish. I mean. It really is like I took my eyes off you, and then all the sudden...!”

“Right,” He says with a smile, “Yeah, probably sort of surprising either way.” The nail polish _wasn’t_ new. He just hid it, when he was in the band. The boys have probably seen him with painted nails on several occasions, he just never drew attention to it. And anytime he was out in public for band related events, he was careful to take them off. Sometimes, in a frenzy, quickly taking acetone with toilet paper and rubbing, even resorting to scratching them off.

He remembers sitting in front of the vanity, Lou behind him, running a comb and gel through his hair, pausing her grooming to hold up his hand in the hot lights.

 _“Your girl paint these on you? Or Lottie?”_ She had asked with a smirk. _“Troublemaker... I’m sure that must’ve been torturous.”_

He didn’t tell her the truth. He already knew where she stood on the topic of boys and makeup, so he could imagine the way she’d respond if he told her, he not only bought the color with his own money, but painted his nails with his own hands, a soft bathrobe on while _Love Actually_ played on his telly for the 5th time that week. A movie he watches out of compulsion, a mind numbing way to stave off anxiety.

Getting to wear makeup on the Beauty Papers magazine cover was huge. It was fucking nerve wrecking. He’s literally wearing _makeup_ , as in, noticeable makeup. Not just a bit of powder to even out his complexion. He’s got on a pretty, dusty rose color on his lips, a bronze color to emphasize the cut of his cheekbones, eyeliner, and a _lot_ of metallic pink shadow. The cover of him with a suit on and makeup was expected to be the most palatable, the least “shocking”, so he was expecting that to be the version with the most sold—but his expectations were totally shattered when they _both sold out_ in a matter of a day. The site crashed, lagged, _heaved_ under the weight of thousands of fans trying to buy them. And it was so relieving and touching, to just be accepted, no questions asked.To not have to say anything, or _declare_ anything.

But it took him five years to get here. Because it’s not just makeup. He’s not doing it as a statement against toxic masculinity. He’s not doing it to prove that he’s woke. It took him _five years_ to get here.

“I don’t mean to... to overstep or... like... be offensive or anything, but..” _Here it comes_.

“Are you..? Like...”

“Like..?” He prompted. If he had to be asked an uncomfortable question, then Louis had to feel like an ass for asking it.

“Oh come on, you know what I mean. Are you _gay_?” He asks in a hushed tone. Like it’s illicit, or _taboo_. Not the first time he’s been asked like that. Some people don’t even ask, they just assume, and then start treating him differently. That hurts even more. Old friends who get weirded out by where he’s headed, random people on Twitter thinking it’s appropriate to call him slurs (ones that don’t even apply to him). The people closest to him didn’t need to ask because they all saw it happen. His mum too, he just indirectly told her. And they were more.. _progressive_ , he guesses, so they didn’t ask questions or ask him to define anything. He just was, and whoever he came home with that night, that week, or month, was the person he was with, until he moved on. He didn’t want a _word_ to restrict him, he just wanted to _love_. As much, whenever, whoever.

There were a lot of people who expected, or demanded he come out. That he was being ambiguous in an attempt to draw in a more diverse audience. But he already did that vague nonsense in the band. There’s no lies, he’s not being anything he _isn’t_.

“No.” Is the honest answer.

“Oh.” Is the disappointed response. There’s nothing else to say. He doesn’t actually like talking about it all that much. He doesn’t really know if he wants to talk about with Louis. The last time his band mates weighed in, Liam said he didn’t want Harry around his _child_ , because he was scared he’d end up in something he _didn’t understand_. He was afraid he’d end up.... _fuck_ , and that hurt to read, yeah, it fucking did. He didn’t expect Liam to relate or like, align himself as an _ally, hell no_ , not after that atrocious song. But Liam knew he loved children, Liam knew he wanted his own, and to imply that Bear would end up _wrong_ because of the way Harry dresses and the further implications of that... it stung, it really did. He forced himself to let it go. Liam isn’t exactly the most open-minded, cultured person, so he shouldn’t have expected more, but it still hurts to hear that from someone he shared five years of his life with.

“Um. Sorry, I thought you were, mate. It’s not a big deal if you are, if you are, I just wanted to say I support you and all that.”

_England, 9:48 PM_

_Support you and all that?? What the fucking_ —... Everything was coming out of his mouth so wrong. That was the least supportive—there was no need to act nonchalant. Coming out was a big deal. People are scared because, well, people aren’t exactly understanding, and when they don’t understand, they do bad bad things. People lose their fucking humanity, their basic empathy over things like same-sex love. Completely ridiculous, he’d never understand it. People have always been this way, as far as Louis recalls, it’s not some fatal, contagious growth. All that religious bullshit is just that, _bullshit_.

“Sorry, I mean, sorry, god. I’ve never really had to congratulate someone on something like this, I don’t know whether I should downplay it to normalize it or like, act more surprised to... I don’t know. I don’t know.” So much for damage control.

“‘Act more surprised’?” Harry inquires. _Shit_.

“Yeah..?” Is his guilty response.

“Louis, I’m not gay.”

“Right.”

...

“No, no, right! I know, you’re not gay! Right.” Which comes off as sincere as the sentence is true. So... not at all sincere. He’s not so good at playing into people’s delusions, or misdirection, _whatever_ , especially when he’s already seen through it. It’s why he’s confronting Harry in the first place. He knows he’s not straight, at least, based off what he’s _seen_ he’s pretty sure Harry isn’t straight. So he just sort of wants to set the record straight (ha) and he’s scared if they talk about it any other time, he may not be feeling as sentimental as he does now, and it could come out (ha ha) _wrong_.

“Louis, just because I dress—“

“It’s not really about that.” Then comes tense silence.

It’s not smart to hide things from Louis. He’s got pretty good intuition, he knows what’s fake and what’s the truth, even when he’s being led to believe that the lie is reality. He’s just learned not to comment on it, because he’s grown to realize not everyone can handle it as well as he can. It’s not really necessary to point out in every case too, he’s learned that the hard way. Some people do it to cope, because they don’t have the strength to handle reality. He gets that, but he doesn’t live a lie to escape real life. He usually goes to bars, downs a couple drinks, pops a pill, if it’s really bad he’ll snort a line and it all fades into the background.

He thinks it was supposed to be more covert than it actually was. But like, it’s hard to ignore an entire human being. Harry thinks, by sneaking people in without introducing them, and hiding them out in his dressing room, he’s taking the heat off of him. But it actually just raises more questions—at least in Louis’ case. He likes his _things_ and people to be accounted for, and for his _space_ to be safe. So when someone new squeezes their way into his _space_ , he notices pretty quickly, and typically doesn’t rest until he gets to the bottom of it (which involves a lot of silent observation).

“Okay. It’s fine, you don’t have to say who you’ve been with or anything. I’m just saying that, I don’t buy that. So. I’m still going to congratulate you, and say I support you.”

“I’m. I’m not lying though. I’m not gay. To be quite honest, I don’t really identify as anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m straight, and I would never say that. Which means you’re not straight.”

“What,”

“Like, if a news publication asked me, “ _Louis Tomlinson, are you gay?_ ” I wouldn’t say, like, “ _Oh who cares?_ ”. I’d probably say like, “ _No, I’m definitely not gay._ ”

There’s a pause after his explanation before Harry just starts laughing, a proper laugh, yelping and everything. It’s been a long time since he’s heard the guy laugh, like _laugh_. He finds most things amusing so he’s always smiling nor chuckling even slightly, but getting him to _really_ laugh has always been satisfying. He always tries to stifle it but it’s futile. He’s not even said anything particularly funny, actually, he’s sure he’s probably just said something pretty offensive, but the feeling of satisfaction is still there. He’s glad the awkwardness came through this time, rather than sounding like a straight up ignorant prick.

“Ehm, sorry.” He says for a good measure.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Harry says, voice still twinged with humor. “I get what you mean. Did’ya read the interview, then?” He asks with innocent curiosity.

“Uhm, not the interview itself no, but some headlines. Got the general gist of it.”

“Hmm.. Well, I was being honest. And if you asked now, my answer would probably be the same.” He doesn’t sound offended or anything, his answer is very casual and proud, but not in an arrogant way. In the way someone should be proud, comfortable and accepting of what they’ve done in a humble revere. It makes sense in this case.

“Well... aren’t you interested in how I know?” Louis asks. He may be pushing their current boundaries a bit, but why not be a bit cheeky while the air between them is still light?

“Uhhh... sure. Sure, I guess.” He says with a bit of hesitancy.

“You weren’t quite good at hiding that man backstage, ya’ know.” Harry laughs from the other end of the receiver, and Louis continues, “Seriously, it’s like you didn’t even try. Plus, the guys huge, I mean, he’s taller than you. Not exactly like he can sneak a ride in your suitcase or something.”

“Uh! Noted! Noted...” Once his little chuckles subside, he finishes, “To be fair, I wasn’t trying to hide him, though!”

“Yeah?”

“No, I mean—... I wasn’t... I was definitely trying to be discreet, but not necessarily _hidden_.”

Louis hums in response. Honestly, he might’ve been the only one who noticed and _cared_. Not because he thought Harry’s new friend (or whatever) was a _bad_ person or someone with bad intentions, just because it was weird that he was tagging along to quite a few shows. Hanging back, almost walking in the shadows, as though he wasn’t a 30 year old man, _alone_ , in the crowd of a One Direction concert. And there were some 30 year old men who attended their concerts but they were typically there for journaling or blogging purposes. Harry never introduced them to him either, despite the fact that he _also_ gave him backstage passes, or at least, put his name down to be given backstage privileges.

As the years went on, lots of things became _open secrets_ , so to say. Stuff that they never discussed, or turned a blind eye to, but knew was happening. Liam’s ever-present and worsening drinking problem was one of them. Among other things, like the baby, or Louis’ own “partying problem”. Now looking back, he can’t be held for not knowing every thing about his closest mate’s lives, but it was definitely a noticeable shift, from sharing almost every little thing with _Harry or Zayn_ , to none of them really knowing the deeper, inner workings of their lives. Over the years, Harry grew better at keeping secrets. With the tabloids and even fans trying to grasp at every little bit of their lives, it was a skill they all had to learn. Zayn didn’t really get out much anyway, half because he was genuinely an introverted homebody. Louis didn’t really care too much what people saw of him when he went in public. People could say whatever the hell they wanted, as far as he was concerned they were all leeches for making up drama anyway. Harry got sort of crafty with it.

As they hung out less, gravitated towards different circles of friends, they just fell out of touch with those intimate details of each other’s lives. Harry got invited to his mum’s wedding, they talked a bit, there was never any outright animosity towards each other, but it was better to just... not _push_ anything. If they got on in the moment, that was _great_ , things felt a little bit like the old days. But the friction was still there, and when the disagreements arose, it was better to take a break, get out of each other’s hair, and reconvene, as detached and impersonal as possible, to avoid any infighting. Louis admits he’s got a big personality, an even bigger mouth, people either bend his way or they got steamrolled. But Harry always had a strong desire to remain individual, _uncontrolled_. If he set his sights on some goal, or vision, it was that or bust.

“Are you two still together or...?”

“Uh. Well. We were never official, um. So no, and. We’re not.. not together right now, no.”

_Los Angeles, California, 1:55 PM_

It was awkward talking about Xander, with Louis, of all people, but he was genuinely relieved to hear acceptance. He wasn’t expecting anything more than casual acceptance from Louis, so he isn’t disappointed.

He wants to steer the conversation somewhere less personal though. Harry’s “the sensitive one”, but he’s not exactly jumping at every opportunity to bare his soul. There’s a lot of complicated emotions going on in there, some he’s benched because they’re exhausting to think about. A phone call with a colleague doesn’t really feel like the right place to get introspective. He doesn’t like his problems spilling everywhere, getting messy. He admits there’s a strong desire to keep things under lock until he has a polished, clean way to explain them or present them, and it may come across as superficial, but the people who know him best understand he likes to put his best foot forward. A motto and a vice—as a result, all his albums, performances and outfits, come out strong, at 100%, but his emotions tend to get bottled up or barfed up into the toilet followed by a killer headache and an empty bottle of tequila.

“By the way, I heard your album!” He starts, cutting off the previous topic a bit clumsily.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Oh, don’t make me ask.”

Harry bites back a smile, even though Louis wouldn’t see it. “Hm?”

“Come now.” He chides playfully. “You gonna make me beg for it, Stevie Nick’s little virtuoso?”

“Heeey...” He drawled, bashful.

“I’m playing with ya, I’m playing with ya. But seriously.”

“Hm? Ah—I’m kidding.” Louis groaned, “Kidding!” He placated. “I listened to your album and I think it’s wonderful.”

“Do ya?” Louis asked, his voice wavering and soft, like he didn’t believe it.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

There’s a pause, before he hears shuffling come from the other end. Once Louis settles, he just hums his contentment, but doesn’t say much else. Harry knows Louis’ relationship with his own talents, his own definition of success, is always fluctuating. It’s why he suddenly switched gears in 2013, from just being the talent to becoming their spokesperson. A power dynamic that Harry was hesitant to accept at first, and eventually ended up despising. There was a reason they _had_ managers; trained people who studied, had experience, dedicated themselves to managerial position and that solely. The talent wasn’t meant to be the management, just like how the defense is appointed a lawyer. Louis could speak on the behalf of the band, but he didn’t know nearly enough about the industry to demand so much power. And in the end, made much more enemies than friends. 

He watched as Louis’ confidence wavered over the years. A combination of just, _maturing_ , but also the acute understanding that they were always, _always_ being watched stunted his perception of himself. Even during the run in the X-Factor, Harry remembers Louis barely having any confidence in himself, and when they were given the choice of being in a band, while he accepted without hesitation, frequently made comments about how he didn’t belong, or how he was going to drag them down. Harry just sat by him and tried his best to comfort but was pushed away. It was complicated; Louis would make self-deprecating comments about himself, his performance, his voice, whatever, so Harry’s natural reaction was to hug him, or reassure him—but Louis would just push him away. Said it wasn’t a big deal, that Harry was so emotional, that he didn’t care, or that he was stating the facts. After a while, he just left it alone.

To say that there wasn’t a best voice in the band would be wrong. There’s always a best in everything, even though “the best” is subjective. Harry spent a lot of time feeling inadequate compared to Liam or Zayn, _especially_ Zayn during the later years. He had a tendency to fall flat, he couldn’t sing runs as effortlessly, his falsetto could be weak. But he realized, spending too much time comparing himself to the other boys, all of whom had different vocal chords and tones of voice, wasn’t constructive. All he could do was focus on making his _own_ voice sound the best it could, so he worked on that. There were moments where he tried to sound like Zayn, because he liked his voice for the song, but they were infrequent.

Louis never tried to imitate someone else. It was a combination of self doubt and just, not really having the voice for it. Thing is though, he never tried anything. He complained and complained that his voice was weak, or he couldn’t sing, but when Harry suggested, _maybe you should kick your smoking habit_ , Louis just teased him and snarked back, _maybe you should get off my back_. He wasn’t even taking a swipe at him, he was being dead serious but, things were already tense between them. _Every little thing_ was an attack, even if it came out of a place of genuine concern. He was overbearing, he was over emotional, he was _controlling_. He needed to loosen up, he was _suffocating_ everyone else. _Take that stick out your ass_. So Louis continued to smoke, and continued to complain. Harry just gave up. Still, he never thought Louis’ voice was bad. It had its weaknesses, as all voices do, but it was still a unique sound, one that lent itself well to some of their more pop-rock hits. His voice was naturally a bit higher than the rest of theirs, which was reflected when he sang, and it was more airy, a perfect break between choruses of his own more gravelly vibrato, and Zayn’s rich voice.

The Walls album was perfectly Louis. Harry didn’t expect anything else. It felt like the natural course of things, if Louis had done anything else it’d be wholly insincere, even if he marketed it to devoted fans as such. He’s not gonna _lie_ , he was pretty busy around the time it came out so he really only gave it one listen through, and even then he was quite distracted, but he heard most of the singles, and all he could feel was happiness, on his behalf.

He stopped paying attention to the magazines and the news, anything with the words One Direction he pretty much had blacklisted in his brain, so he didn’t get around to reading any interviews with Louis following the release of the album. He knew a couple of the songs on there were dedicated to his mum, including the one he performed at the X-Factor, which was brave. No one really sat Louis down and taught him that feeling was like, _good_ , and a normal human reaction, and as a result, nothing to be ashamed about, but what’s new in society. But he handled it really well, and it was refreshing to hear him let go, to share his grief with millions of viewers. Harry can’t even count on his fingers how many times he’s cried on stage—it’s something every artist should probably experience at least once.

But there was a point where he thought Louis just wasn’t going to release any album. Five years, almost five years went by, and while Liam released his pretty late too, it was starting to feel like Louis was just going to keep releasing little singles here and there until eventually....? He’s not going to lie, when he left the band, he wasn’t sparing a single thought to his mates. He admits he became selfish, spent a lot of time wallowing in his _own_ problems, staring in the mirror looking at his _own_ body, playing the songs _he_ liked while driving down the scenic coast of Los Angeles. There was never a moment he felt depersonalized, but it wasn’t until then he began realizing how _strongly_ he had been holding himself back. There was a person he wanted to be, goals he wanted to work towards, people he wanted to surround himself with, and he wasn’t able to. And when he was given the free reign to do so, he paused. He didn’t really know where to start. He was lucky to have had Jeff by his side all those years, or he might’ve really been stuck. And even when he found his rock in Jeff, he was hyper vigilant, batting away anything that he thought might take this away from him with a fervor. Stepping into Columbia was a great honor, but he went in jaded, expecting to be muzzled and subject to their executive’s whims.

He knows Louishas an almost _violent_ need to be independent. Even when it is not being threatened, he deploys needless acts of rebellion just to send the message across, he _cannot_ and _will_ not be commanded. Harry thought next to him, Louis would appreciate going solo the most. The chance to say fuck it all, throw himself into _his_ crowd, link up with like minded people, connect, and eventually release a striking, no doubt explicit album, one that would leave the public reeling. ‘Cause really, all that cutesy shit they sang about in Up All Night or even Made in the AM scraped the surface of what Louis mind really was like. He wasn’t the suave sexy that Zayn was, but he certainly wasn’t the crass overproduced kind that Liam was. _Messy_ was his look, and he actually wore it quite well, even if it clashed against Harry’s desire to be much more polished. Loud sounds, an aggressive voice, swearing like a sailor, speaking his mind (maybe a bit too often). There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he would find a fan base that would support that, because at the end of the day, that was similar to the sound One Direction was already putting out. It would just _actually_ be mature this time.

“I mean it!” He tried.

“No, I hear ya. I hear ya.”

“Really, Louis. I mean, it took a while! But you did it. You did wonderfully. Jay would—... well. She’d be proud, Louis. She would.”

From the other end Louis sniffles a bit. Family always brings him back to the ground. He can go out partying all night, take as many suspicious pills and powders as he likes and punch, yell at whoever pisses him off in the moment, but he’s tied so tightly to his family, even one word from his mum he’d shut the whole operation down. That’s where his pride is, not just his family but his hometown, his roots. And for him, it’d be a terrible shame to misrepresent them, to embarrass them, to let them down. To stray from them, their image, their culture. That’s the _last_ thing to mess with, if you want to mess with Louis Tomlinson. And Harry knows, because he used to be apart of that. So for him, it’s important Louis knows, he done good. And it might be condescending had he said it to anyone else, but for now he’s _still_ Harry Styles, that 16 year old boy from Holmes Chapel, and he’s still Louis Tomlinson, that rambunctious 18 year old from Doncaster. And they share a home together, they share clothes together, and they still share their hopes and dreams together, sitting on his bed in Princess Park, gazing at the ceiling and pretending they can see the stars.

“You really think?” His voice small, and raspy.

“Do you really need to ask?” Harry reassures with all the confidence in the world.

_England, 10:22 PM_

They sit in shared silence together. Louis isn’t crying. He doesn’t cry, but that’s not why. Even if he had all the tears in the world, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to shed a single one right now. It’s that kind of emotion that tugs at more than just your heartstrings. Something profound and all encompassing. Swallowing his entire soul whole, not like a flame, but like a warm ray of sun enveloping him in general all around feel-goodness. A little bit of grief, because there will always be a little boy in mourning somewhere inside of him, but mostly, feel-goodness.

 _Jesus_ , he feels so stupid for reacting this way. Loads of people tell him the same thing, _your mum would be so proud, you’ve done your mum so proud_ , the like, but he needs some pompous wannabe 70’s glam rocker to feel validated? He’s 28 for crying out loud, needs to probably start acting more like it. But this time, he decides not to do his usual pushing and pulling. For whatever reason, God, or some other higher power, likely his brain synapses because that makes a bit more sense, has decided that this was what he needed to heal. Words of affirmation from some guy he used to be in a boy band with. Like, _what the hell brain_ , but he feels so good right now, it can’t be a mistake.

All the shit he gives Harry behind closed doors really is just that: shit. He lets his pettiness get ahead of him, as unemotional as he wants to be he’s irrational, this is all standard Louis Tomlinson psychoanalysis basics. But he gets it. Why people are so drawn to the _mystique_ behind a kid who really _isn’t_ all that mysterious at all. He _gets_ what makes some white kid from some random village in Cheshire so addicting, so magnetic, so revered. There could be a hundred people in the room, and with a pair of green eyes, he’d make you feel like the only one. Effortlessly, it seemed, he would _understand_. There was no need to sit down on a chaise lounge, start at the beginning, reveal your deepest traumas. He had such a welcoming energy, something _healing_ , that just coaxed you into being you. Into being honest, with yourself, with him. And his presence, his heart, acted like a little glittery, fancy treasure box with an equally mini golden key and locket, that he would swallow, so no one else could open it.

He feels 18 again, even for a moment. Someone a lot less cold, a lot less bitter, someone a lot kinder.

The moment ends though, and he’s back on the ground, in his room in his giant house, surrounded by the cute little fairy lights Eleanor put up. She said they livened up the place, had the twins pick it off Amazon with her. He figured, they were so little, what good would they do? But let her string them up anyway. It seemed to make her just that little bit happy, and he’d do a lot to see that pretty smile. But contrast against the dark sky, they seemed to emit an impressive glow for having such a tiny little bulb. He never realized how much of a comfort it was. 

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Hey—well, sorry for popping in... I know this was really random and...”

“Oh no, it’s nothing.”

“Might’ve... might’ve been inconvenient...”

“No, no it’s still noon here. But i imagine its..? It’s pretty late out there, yeah? Nearly nine? Or, or is it,”

“Yeah, yeah—actually, it’s ten.”

“Ten? That’s about bedtime for me...” 

“Ahah, come on now Styles, you’re still quite young.”

“Hey! I like the extra hours...” 

“True, true. You’ve always been a bit lethargic..”

“Lethargic?” Harry repeated, “I don’t recall.” 

“ _I_ recall someone sleeping around quite a bit. Anywhere mate, I mean, even the cold hard floor, and you were out like a light.” 

“‘Sleeping around’...” 

“Oh come on now!”

Harry chuckles, “‘M just joking!” 

The banter comes too easily, and a couple years back, they could probably keep going like this until the early morning. Louis laptop set up, something dumb running on YouTube, a lukewarm cup of tea in his hands and Harry stripped down to his socks right next to him. Making stupid jokes that would spiral into some long-winded discussion about absolutely _nothing_. Going on and on until they both clocked out. The conversation would never formally end, and in the morning, they’d just pick it up again, Louis fresh out of the shower, stepping over all the dirty laundry he let pile up around their apartment. Harry in the spacious kitchen, expertly whipping up an eggs Benedict for the two of them. 

He feels a bit nauseous, because this feels like the last time they’ll talk. There’s an air of finality, one that feels natural. One that’s sweeping like the current. One he can’t really fight off. 

“Well then. Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Or, I guess for you, good afternoon.”

Harry chuckles again, always so fond of the lamest jokes. “That’s right.”

....

“Goodnight, Louis.”

“Harry.” 

The line falls dead. 

_Epilogue._

_Los Angeles, California, 2:31 PM_

“Harry?” Comes Jeff’s worried voice from the hallway. Harry’s taken out of his thoughts by the sound, and he quickly falls into action, trying to slide his phone into his pocket before realizing— _idiot_. 

“Everything good?” 

He turns and sees his best friend in the doorway. Myles is scooped into his hands, the little thing wagging its tail contently, a fiend for attention. Harry swallows and stares for a moment too long. Everything.... is good? Everything is good... it’s fucked up that he was expecting otherwise. 

“Yeah, yeah,” He responds light and airy to make up for the extra beat. “Everything’s fine.” 

Jeff levels him with a look that says _are you sure_ with a hint of _don’t fuck with me_ , because he can’t fuck with Jeff, the guy has known him for half a decade now, he can see through the pop star smiles and puppy dog eyes and curly floppy mess he can sometimes _proudly_ call hair. 

He takes a moment to think. 

“Yeah.” He concludes. “Everything is fine.” 

Immediately, he shifts back into professional mode, rambling, “I honestly have _no clue_ how he got your number, H, I’m guessing maybe someone told him? If it’s an issue, we can get it resolved, I don’t feel like getting in contact with anyone’s team to be frank....” 

For those last minutes on the phone, it was like he was right there with him, the sea be damned. He assumes his position right back on the sofa, where his notebook and pen lay delicately shut and positioned, probably by Jeff. He notices though, a cup of tea resting on the corner of the coffee table, untouched, the bag still sticking out. He registers the cup as his—which is funny, because he doesn’t really drink tea. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re about to comment, “hey author what the fuck was that”, the answer is, “I don’t have a single clue.” 
> 
> Anyways don’t forget to stream Fine Line. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay inside.


End file.
